Lie to Me
by Very Sincerely Yours
Summary: Continuation of Mad World. As Damon heads down a long and winding road to recovery Stefan faces his own demons of the past, doing his best to care for and protect the brother he'd wronged so badly as he desperately searches for the strength to forgive.


**Lie to Me**

Chapter 1- Hiding

**~.~ **

**It's finally here. Yay!**

**If anyone has anything cute and brotherly they want to see, drop a PM or review. **

**And for the people who want to know why I didn't kill Klaus last time? Well, cuz I'm a Klamon shipper, and now that Damon is being all macho in the show my favourite Hybrid is the only awesome character any more. **

**Still, I'm always hoping they'll find a way to bring Ric back and he and Damon will realise that they've loved each other all along. **

**...I can dream. **

**~.~ **

***past* **

I was fourteen when I found out Damon had been lying to me for years. Fourteen, backed by a decade's worth of secrets. He never wanted me to know, but he couldn't hide forever. He'd already hidden for so long.

And I'm still ashamed that I didn't know sooner, that I'd let it happen and made him deal with the consequences on his own.

I'm ashamed that when I did discover it, I treated him like no brother ever should.

I was fourteen, it was 1861, and along with the war this was the biggest news I'd heard since my mother died, which coincidentally was when this all started. Frost coated our property in the early winter and a chilly wind bit our necks whenever we ventured outdoors. It was an accident, I shouldn't have known, but it happened and I finally saw the scars my brother had hidden, in the literal sense.

I'll never forgive myself, because I'd been ignorant for so long. And my brother once told me that it was okay, I was just a child, it wasn't my fault. But it's not okay, it never was, because he's my brother and I should've known.

It was a dark, stormy night, which as I grew older I realised was quite a stereotype. Thunder crashed and lightning lit the sky a bright, frightening yellow. Even though I was well into my adolescence, I still scampered down the hallway and into his room that night, the storm not only scaring me but possibly my brother as well, whom I knew to be frightened on occasion.

Only that night, Damon wasn't there.

The lightning illuminated the room, flooding in from the windows, and gave me a perfect view of the empty bed. The sheets were thrown back, the pillows laying motionless at the head. I spent a minute just staring, my entire body shivering, and then the thunder sounded and I scampered towards the only source of warmth and comfort in the room. I slid into the bed, pulling the sheets up over my shoulders, and waited for my brother to come back. His scent surrounded me and I felt slightly more at ease.

And I still remember the minutes before he stumbled back into my arms. I couldn't see, I was lying too far down beneath the linen, but I could hear it all so clearly. Sounds like thumping, slapping, crying, grunting and the occasional whimper. There were no screams, but now I wish there were, because back then I was just scared and confused and a scream may have snapped me out of my daze.

I wish that I had moved.

But he did come back to me, like he always promised he would, after what felt like an eternity in the dark. The door creaked open and he limped forward, leaning heavily against the doorframe, his heavy steps wavering as he shook. I sat, trembling and his figure remained motionless. When lightning lit the room again, a sob forced its way up my throat.

And as Damon's eyes met mine, I still remember all the emotion. The pain, the guilt, the regret. The lies. It was only a second and then he fell to the floor. I ran to him, scrambling forward and falling at his side. I turned him onto his back, whimpering when I saw blood soaking is shirt. I shook him desperately, frightened at how still he was.

At one point I must have fallen asleep curled up against his arm, because when I woke I was sitting at Damon's bedside, my head resting next to his. I looked up at his pale face, watched the breath that ghosted over his lips.

Anger flooded me and I bit back a scream.

Hours later, when Damon finally woke, the first thing that I asked him was why. Not why did this happen. Not why does our father hurt you. Why. Why do you keep things from me? Why do you lie?

When Damon told me that it had been years, a whole decade, I wasn't sad that he had lived through ten years of pain at my expense. I was sad that he had lied to me for so long, that there had always been lies.

I did not speak a word to him afterwards. I nursed him through the next days, cared for his bruises and lashings. I completed all of his chores as well as my own for the entire week but I did not say a word.

And on the last night before I broke my silence I crept into my brother's room and laid beside him in his bed. He broke that night, spilling his secrets, his thoughts. I held him as he cried, until he slipped into sleep, his last uttered words begging me for forgiveness.

But forgiveness is something I never had the strength to offer.

**~.~ **

***present* **

Stefan sat back on his bed, his spine resting comfortably against the head board, his brother leaning back against his chest. Damon's head was a heavy weight on his shoulder and his body was lying limply across his lap, cutting off circulation in one of his legs. He wrapped one arm around the smaller body protectively, using the other to throw back shots of bourbon-whiskey and blood, something he realised he was quite fond of. Sometimes he'd put the bottle to Damon's lips and coax the liquid down his compliant throat.

He was too drunk to deal with anything else.

He knew Damon would understand.

And the small amounts of blood in the alcohol seemed to be working. He'd tried giving Damon straight blood only to have it rejected immediately. Bourbon seemed to loosen his stomach, although Stefan was wary of poisoning Damon completely.

Well, he was wary... before he'd gotten drunk.

Now he didn't really know much about anything anymore. He knew Damon was still burning, he hadn't ever stopped, and when Stefan wasn't drinking he held the cold bottle against Damon's forehead. He knew that he should really be doing something other than sitting and drinking himself into a stupor. He knew that it felt so good with Damon alive and resting in his arms, and that if he tried to make things better he'd probably just hurt Damon worse.

_More_, his brain supplied, _hurt him more. _

He told it to shut up.

But Stefan was comfortable, extremely comfortable as he swung the bottle back and swallowed deeply. Damon mewled in discomfort, feeling the movement as it passed from one brother to the other, and Stefan smiled, shushing him drunkenly and pouring more of the liquid passed his brother's pliant lips.

Damon silenced immediately.

Stefan continued to feed his brother, resting his cheek amongst dark hair and holding the heavy head back so Damon could drink without choking. He made sure to only let small amounts into Damon's mouth at a time. It felt good, caring for Damon this way, and part of Stefan realised that if Damon had died he'd probably be doing exactly the same thing despite a cold, unresponsive body. It only made him value his brother's small trembles and mewls more.

As ice began to slide down the glass interior of the bottle Stefan was tipping, he pulled it back and away from Damon's mouth. Even melting the ice would no doubt be the opposite of safe for his brother. He performed one final swig and finished off the liquid before returning the still cool base to Damon's cheek and brow.

Stefan thought about speaking, he was considering it in his drunken state, but even when he tried the words came out all slurred and incoherent. He giggled at his own attempt before looking to Damon, maybe searching for the same humour in blue eyes.

There was none.

And Stefan saw the reflection of himself in the glass, watched his face crumble as he buried it in silky black hair. He sobbed, bawled, begged, cried. No matter how hard he pleaded, Damon's eyes did not open. No matter how roughly he shook him, Damon did not make any move to push him away. He held Damon's hand in his own and waited for a squeeze, the barest of hope. He needed it.

Stefan almost fell asleep with Damon in his arms, only to be roused by unhappy whines from below. And Stefan smiled, sweetly and sadly. He wanted hope; it seemed echoes and urges were the best Damon could offer. Stefan didn't think he deserved any more. Maybe this was a test, a way to make up for his past wrongs. Take Damon or leave him, forgive and forget as they say.

And Stefan, who had spent one hundred and forty five years without the strength to do little more than lock his fears away decided to try. He'd come this far, he could go a little further.

But if he couldn't, if he wasn't strong enough, then he only hoped that Damon could understand, was strong enough to. Because if anyone could do that it was Damon and he swore he would try so hard. He would do anything, everything, even if it means facing his past and all the wrongs he committed.

He would fix it all, he had to.

For Damon's sake, for his sake, just because... because...

...because they are brothers.

Stefan stopped himself from thinking too hard, he knew that it would probably start to hurt after a while, and removed the bottle from Damon's brow. The heat had melted all the ice and warmed the liquid, leaving it a murky and semi-transparent red-gold. He placed it on the table and shushed Damon as the smaller vampire mewled again. It was the cutest sound, desperate but almost drunk in its quiet vulnerability. Uniquely Damon, Stefan would say. Damon when he's hurt enough to care.

A flash of guilt struck and he could've cried again.

Instead, he took another bottle, the second one that he'd brought upstairs earlier, and downed half of it, swallowing great mouthfuls in huge gulps. When he thought he'd had enough, his alcohol induced buzz fully renewed, he put it back down, reaching instead for the blood bag sitting at his side. He tore it open one handed before pouring the contents down the thin mouth and into the bottle, mixing it with the amber liquid already inside.

And with a final sigh, he tilted Damon's head back so it rested almost horizontally against his shoulder and pressed the bottle back to his lips. Damon swallowed weakly yet eagerly, Stefan having to monitor the amount of liquid falling into his mouth more closely than before.

When Damon's swallowing started to falter, Stefan pulled the bottle back and let Damon relax. The cold glass was against Damon's brow again in an instant and Stefan heard his brother sigh in relief.

Yes, Stefan would look after Damon. He was doing it even now, in a time when he didn't think he cared about anything. And Damon needed it, deserved it even, after all these years of sticking things out all alone.

Stefan buried his face in Damon's hair yet again, one eye seeing his warped reflection in the glass of the bottle through thick stands of black. He giggled again, slipping into an alcohol induced slumber, one last thought echoing in his head as he gave in to the dark.

_I do have a big head, don't I Dee? _

And just before he was gone to the world, he though he heard his brother return with a quiet laugh. It could have been real, or simply hope in an audible form.

Stefan was too drunk to determine which.

**~.~**


End file.
